Why We Fight
by BrandonnStark43
Summary: Everyone's experience in the war was different; some soldier's memoirs closer than others. Easy Company dropped from the sky, while the Marines landed on the beaches. The story starts off in 1942 and centres around the main characters Jon, Arya, Gendry, and Robb. [based on Band of Brothers and The Pacific]
1. Chapter 1

_"Within Easy Company they had made the best friends they had ever had, or would ever have. They were prepared to die for each other; more important, they were prepared to kill for each other."_

_-Stephen E. Ambrose, Band of Brothers _

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><p><span>Currahee<span>

Everyone's experience in the war was different; some soldier's memoirs closer than others. Easy Company dropped from the sky, while the Marines landed on the beaches.

**-1944-**

The sky was dark with flashes of light lighting up the night. The silhouettes of the Airborne showered down on Normandy. Some men jumped out of planes when the green signal flipped on, while others never even got to use their parachutes. Airplanes went down in flames and others exploded with shrapnel flying everywhere. The men were frightened and nervous; some prayed to the Seven, Old Gods or R'hllor for guidance, while others found comfort in smoking.

Easy Company's Lieutenant Yoren motioned for the young boys to stand up and get clipped in. The plane shook and the soldiers stumbled to stay upward; some holding onto others for support. By now the men were in a single file line, preparing to jump.

"11 okay!" The boy at the end of the plane shouted and grasped the solider's shoulder in front of him.

"10 okay! Pyp yelled and copied his movement.

"9 okay!"

" 8 okay!"

"7 okay!"

"6 okay!" Gendry leaned forward, so Hot Pie could hear him.

"5 okay!"

"4 okay!"

"3 okay!"

"2 okay!"

"1 okay!" Jon Snow shouted.

The green light flicked on and Yoren bellowed. "Its time to jump, you sorry sons of whores!"

The sounds of bombs, explosions and the roar of the engine made it difficult to hear Lieutenant Yoren; but one by one, the boys jumped out into the darkness, only to be embraced by death, gunshots, fear, and flame.

**-1942-**

_Dear Jon,_

_I can't say that everyone and everything at home is the same as how you last saw it. Some of your childhood friends committed suicide over the months because they didn't qualify for the army, marines or paratroopers due to health reasons. Jon, my comrades are out there fighting and I know that many won't come back; I will never hear their laughter or their voice and I will never be able to confide in them. It kills me to know that while I'm sitting here writing to you, my friends are dying and enduring so much pain and shit that I could never fathom. I know there are many jobs for women in the military, but I want to fight with you, Jon. I want to be on the line and helping, with a gun in my hand and a M1 helmet on my head. I want to train and endure the physical labour that you are enduring at the camp and I want to experience what so many young boys are facing; I feel like I could do justice that way. You remember Edric Dayne right? Well he is thinking about faking his age on his application sheet so he could train to become a Paratrooper, just like you. How is Camp Toccoa? Have you made any new friends yet? Robb managed to join the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines, and is currently training at Camp Elliot. He doesn't write to Rickon, Bran, Mum and me that often, but Sansa who's working there, keeps us updated . She says her and Jeyne Poole sew, cook, train, and listen to orders from sergeant Rachel Shields. Sansa also mentions that Robb has become fast friends with a "Theon Greyjoy" and may fancy Rachel. There is so much I would love to say to you, but it's getting late and the sound of the type writer is keeping Rickon up. I hope to see you soon, either on the line or when you get home. I still remember your advice on using a bayonet, "Stick 'em with the pointy end,"_

_Kick ass Jon, and come home to me,_

_Arya_

_Come home to me, come home to me..._ the line echoed throughout Jon's mind. He knew that once he stepped on the C-47 that would take him Normandy, there would be no going back. Once he heard the roar of the engine and the bombs being released, there would be no going back. This was what Jon was working towards; to fight instead of flight and to know that you couldn't dwell on the future or the past. Currahee was the one thing Jon knew and needed to remember. Soon, he would be apart of the Airborne, but right now he had to finish training before officially becoming a member of Company E. Jon folded the letter and stuck it underneath his pillow for later use. He donned his mid thigh black shorts, cotton white top and backpack full of supplies, and headed outside Easy's hut for their daily run. The weight of the pack and the ammunition would take its tow later on tonight, but for now Jon was refreshed. It was nearing dusk on a warm Friday night and while other Paratroopers from different companies were spending their weekend off base, Easy was running Currahee mountain.***

Jon joined up with Gendry and they sauntered over to Sam to receive their unloaded guns. Jon had been good mates Sam back in high school and knowing his personality, Jon was quite surprised when the Tarly kid joined the Airborne. "The bastard and the bull," Sam mused, in greeting. Gendry slung his arms around Jon and Sam (watching out for his gun), and they walked over to the other cluster of soldiers waiting near one of the Chow halls. Most of the buildings were neat wooden barracks painted cream coloured with dark roofs. There were also signs pointing to indicate what each place was. Company E, waited outside the mess hall for Lieutenant Jaime Lannister; their Commissioned Officer Robert Baratheon would not be present.

Soon enough, Easy was on their way running in three-four column groups towards Currahee. The sound of animals scurrying around in the trees that surrounded the lower half of the mountain was white noise compared to the feet hitting the dirt ground in unison and the panting coming from each boy. Jon wiped the sweat from his brow and fought the urge to take a sip from his canister.

"Who are we?" Lieutenant Lannister yelled from a squadron behind Jon.

"Easy Company!" the boys yelled in harmony.

"Where do we run?"

"Currahee!" Jon pumped his legs and gained speed, urging the Bull and the rest of his squadron to keep up with his pace.

"And what does Currahee mean?" Jaime's voice rang in Jon's head.

"We stand alone!" The pathway had been gradually becoming steeper and soon the soldiers would have to run in single file up the toughest part of the mountain.

"How far up and how far down?"

"Three miles up, three miles down!"

"What does Easy Company do?"

"We stand alone!" Jon gritted his teeth.

They all tried to stay in cadence, but as the boys energy drained, their footing and movements became sloppy and uneven. This was not how real Paratroopers were supposed to be; real Paratroopers thought and acted as one, they were a band of brothers. Jon knew this well and so did most of his platoon. For now, pertinacity was Jon's best friend and he shouted encouragements to his mates, as some struggled up the mountain. He mopped the sweat with his t-shirt leaving smeared dirty marks on the white fabric.

The night had started to cool when Easy had returned to Camp Toccoa all sweaty and exhausted. The boys stood in two lines facing Jaime, prepared for their next command. Commissioned Officer Robert Baratheon had quietly made his way beside Jaime at the front, waiting eagerly for Easy to pour out their contents. Jon noticed that the two men were polar opposites; Lieutenant Jaime was a respectable man, with shaggy golden hair and emerald green eyes. Robert on the other hand, had raven black hair, striking blue eyes, and was known for his strictness and whoring around.

"Empty your canteens," Jaime spoke.

Jon unclipped his canteen from this pack and rotated the lid. The water sloshed around in the canister and Jon's mouth had become dry and sticky. He stuck the canteen upside down and watched as the water gurgled from the cannister, turning the dirt into mud. The splashing sound of the water started to trickle towards the end, but one person had caught Baratheon's attention.

"What's your name private?" He ordered.

Jon glanced over his shoulder, to see a stunned looking Pyp.

"Pypar Altin, sir," he respectfully shouted.

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert asked impatiently. "This is Easy Company, not Fox Company or Wilding Company! I trained you to be the best, not second best." He thundered. "You're running Currahee again and all of your weekend passes for next week are revoked." The lieutenant fumed.

Pyp solemnly nodded and started jogging towards the mountain, away from the only home the boys knew. Out of quick judgement, Jon followed Pyp in pursuit, with The Bull and Sam trailing behind. In the background Jon heard the Commander shouting at them to come back, but in that moment Jon could care less. The only thing that was on his mind was Currahee; he'd run it again and again, with his friends if he had too. They were Paratroopers; and _real_ paratroopers stuck together no matter what. _Real_ Paratroopers were a band of brothers.

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><p>*** Currahee Mountain is a mountain located in Stephens County, Georgia near Toccoa. The name appears to be derived from the Cherokee word meaning "stand alone." Technically a part of the Georgia Piedmont or "foothill" province, Currahee Mountain rises abruptly about 800 vertical feet (240 m) above the local topography and is the highest peak in Stephens County.<p>

The mountain was made famous internationally by Tom Hanks' and Steven Spielberg's television miniseries Band of Brothers, in which it was featured as a training site of the American Paratroopers at Camp Toccoa, Georgia where they ran up and down Currahee. The name of the mountain became the motto for these paratroopers including the famous quote: "3 Miles up, 3 Miles down". The nickname of the 506th Infantry Regiment, of which Easy Company was a part of, is "Currahee". ***

-WIKIPEDIA-

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><p><strong>Hello everyone, so as I was watching The Band of Brothers and the Pacific, I started to think, "What if I made a GoT fanfiction during WW2?" <strong>

**So I started writing the story, but then realized I should try to make it decently realistic, which lead to me using BoB and Pacific as a guideline. I have an outline of where this story is going to lead, but I will most likely have some references of those two Shows in this story. So credit to Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg (For the shows), and George R R Martin (GoT). I hope you guys liked it, I would really love your opinions because it will help me become a better writer.**

**The title "Why We Fight," is from the Band of Brothers**

**PS. I apologize if this story offends anyone in anyway, if I accidentally do offend someone, it is NOT intended. **

**Also thank you to my friend RobbMadden on Tumblr, who supported me with this story :)**

**-BrandonnStark43**


	2. Chapter 2

**Letters**

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><p><em>"I am the harvest of man's stupidity. I am the fruit of the holocaust. I prayed like you to survive, but look at me now. It is over for us who are dead, but you must struggle, and will carry the memories all your life. People back home will wonder why you can't forget." <em>

_-Eugene B. Sledge, With the Old Breed_

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><p>Letters are delivered to anticipating families everyday and are either received with a sigh of relief or sorrowful cries; No parent wants to bury their child, or see no spark of happiness in their eyes. They would think about the little boy they raised all their life, who exceeded milestones, was now lost in oblivion. Even civilians who never fought in a war were surrounded by death; the hard cold reality of having a loved one easily ripped out of the world of the living had become common. Before the war, women and men used to flinch at the sound of wailing humans, but slowly it had turned into white noise.<p>

It was October 3rd 1943, when the Stark's had gotten their first letter. Arya's eyes were closed as she took in the rustling leaves, the eerie silence of the forest, and the cold gentle breeze; she wondered if Jon could feel the same wind against his skin too. She tightened Jon's favourite beige jacket around herself, relishing the warmth she received. Off in the distance she could hear the faint sound of Bran's laughter and Rickon's hooting, which made her miss her other brothers even more. Jon and Robb, Arya thought. But also her father. Come home to me... Of course she missed Sansa too (not that she would ever admit it), but Arya knew her life wasn't in peril like theirs would be soon.

Arya had made a routine of coming out to the forest where her and Jon used to play, hoping one day she'd see him standing by their old tree fort. Arya knew she would run full speed and hug him tightly, and he would muss her hair with a goofy grin spread across his face. She had daydreamed about that moment ever since he left. She always pictured meeting Robb out on the docks, with the sun shining down and making his auburn hair look fiery red. Arya missed his laugh and their Saturday morning fishing. Now, when she reunited with her father, Arya never seemed to picture it in Alabama, but back in Canada where they grew up. She missed the cold chilly winters and the long nights sitting by the fire listening to stories Ned told them about the military boys. Jon and Robb always muttered about how they heard these tales a million times already, but they never seemed to leave. and Bran would lean over and whisper with confidence that he would join the army and fight like the boys their father talked about. But that was before Bran's accident, that left him paralyzed from the waist down. Before their father had left Jon, Sansa, and Robb had left them. Before Arya's friends had died. Before Bran's depression. Before, before before...

A snap of a twig brought Arya back from her thoughts. The intruder was sloppy rather than stealthy, which meant that they meant no harm. She opened her eyes and propped herself back on her elbows and was quite taken aback to see Catelyn Stark. Arya inspected her mother, and instead of her stern but caring look she always wore, it was replaced with something... different. Her posture was slumped and there was sadness in her river blue eyes. She's trying to be strong, Arya thought. But why? Catelyn moved to sit down beside her daughter not meeting Arya's eyes.

"Arya," she said, her voiced strained.

Catelyn slid the note out of her pocket and solemnly handed it to Arya.

_Dear Mrs. Stark,_

_I know by now the War Department has informed you of the death of your husband, Eddard Stark, who was killed in the Pacific Theatre on the 22nd of September. Losing him shocked us all; he was an honourable man and was very loved by his soldiers. Lieutenant Colonel Stark was one of the finest commanders we had ever seen. Lieutenant Colonel Stark was caught and beheaded by our enemy, along with Lieutenant Benjen Stark. May we, as an organization, express our sincere sympathy to you and your family. His sacrifice had not been in vain, for he shall be remembered forever. If we can help in any way, at any time, we shall count it a privilege._

_Most Sincerely, Colonel Jon Arryn_

Arya knew what those letters had looked like before she read her fathers. she was there when the butcher boy's father had received his son's notice. She remembered how he called out Mycah's name in mourn, while his wife broke down in sobs. Later, family friends letter had come, like Oberyn's, Willas', Matthew's, and Will's... All boys that Sansa and Arya knew and grew up with. Arya could easily count more casualties than the living. Now, her own father and uncle had been ripped away from her, but who was next? Jon? Robb? Edric? It wouldn't end there, everyone she cared about would leave and go where she couldn't follow.

Arya felt lost and betrayed, he was supposed to come back. He promised her, promised her, he promised her. The day Ned left, he had hugged her tight and muttered in her ear, "I'll be back in no time when the war is done in a couple of years, and then we could visit Canada again. You'd Like that wouldn't you?" Now Arya would never get to see his face or hear his gentle voice talk to Rickon. She would never hunt with him again or look back to see his proud face every time she won a match against a cocky boy. Most of all, Arya would terribly miss their conversations together and how he would muss up her hair like Jon used to do. Each night after that day, Arya would hope that Ned would quietly tip toe into her room, kiss her forehead, and tell her everything was alright.

"How's Bran taking it?" Arya asked for her younger brother.

"He was worried about you," Catelyn sighed.

"You and Bran have always been close,"

Yes, Arya thought.

Just like her and Jon. Would she have to read a letter about Jon's disappearance? Or maybe even Robb's death? At least she knew that Sansa, Bran, and Rickon would survive. She needed some good news to fall back on. Arya and Catelyn talked little, but instead, they sat there on the leaf covered ground together. It was such a beautiful day for a tragic death.

Later that day, Arya was swinging her legs over the side of a wooden bridge, her thoughts elsewhere as Edric rambled on about girls and war. There was a cool breeze that felt nice against her skin and made her wonder if Jon could feel the same wind too. Much to her mother's dismay, Arya wore Robb's plaid flannelette shirt and Jon's old jeans. Edric used to lecture her on how girls weren't supposed to dress that way, but after many attempts to persuade her to wear a skirt, he sighed in defeat. Now he accepted Arya for who she was; a girl who hated girls clothing. Arya didn't loathe that she was a female, she was just against the restrictions that came hand in hand with being a "woman". A pompous idea exploded in Arya's mind. At age 16 (almost 17), she was never like Sansa who had everything a woman should have; Arya was flat chested with very little curves. In most cases, she could pass as a boy... But for how long? Could she pretend for a couple of months? Or years? Arya could enlist with Edric, under Bran's name... Or maybe even Arry. Yes, Arry Snow. A bastard like her cousin Jon. Of course everything was easier said than done, but Arya decided she'd talk to Bran later that evening.

Dinner was quiet that night, as the remaining Starks gathered around the table. Arya wheeled Bran to his spot across from her seat. She had changed into a nice light blue blouse with a flowery skirt, to abide with her mother's wishes. Ned and Benjen's death smothered the content mood that the Stark's tried to portray. Rickon was at that age, where the concept of death wouldnt effect most children his age, but he was wise compared to most. He understood that's his father got chopped apart by a stranger he's never met, and he understood that he would never see Ned again. Arya felt crying was weak, and swore an oath to mask her expression for her family. She needed to stay strong for her brothers, but especially her mum. Arya jerked her hand back, when she felt a cold nose on her skin.

"Oh Nymeria," she breathed and petted her husky.

Nymeria was the last connection she had to the North. Ned had always preferred to call them Direwolves, acknowledging the fact the Stark's huskies reminded him of his favourite legend. Summer sat by Bran's side, occasionally nudging his leg. No one made conversation that night, as every topic possible would lead to them crying.

She cut and cut until the brown hair that had once been long was now short, choppy, and uneven. Bran sat behind her in the bathroom, examining birth certificates and identity cards. Arya and Bran were always close growing up, and he realized why she wanted to do this. Of course he didn't want her to get hurt, but Bran knew Arya; and it was better to be on her side than to make her fight alone.

"Arry Snow of Mobile Alabama," Bran commented. "Isn't that a bit obvious? Arry, Arya. Snow, Jon Snow. Mobile Alabama, here..."

Arya scoffed, "I didn't think about it too much..."

"How about Arry Williams?" Bran asked.

She gave a slight nod at his idea, and examined her appearance. The hair would be passable, but she was worried most about the three attributes she couldn't help. It was mostly her monthly "gift" she was anxious about, but her voice, and wrapping her breasts with cloth... She'd worry about those as the time became closer. Arya thought back to the letter that they received, the last sentence replaying over and over in her mind:

If we can help in any way, at any time, we shall count it a privilege.

And she might just take them up on the offer.

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and gave me kudos(:  
>Sorry for the long wait (i've been busy with homework and basketball) and im also sorry for not really knowing how to work this website.<p>

You guys are honestly so nice to me and i cant thank you enough!

Thanks to RobbMadden on Tumblr, go follow her shes freaking fab and is the reason why I'm doing this story.

Please tell me if there are any big mistakes in the story, sorry.

Oh aha i'm on season 3 of GoT, binge watching is fun.

Stay nifty guys.

-BrandonnStark43

PS. To all those who reviewed, Thank you so much! I'm sort of new to fanfiction and all, so thank you guys for being so nice! honestly you are all on point!

PPS. I'm thinking about writing a story (probably will go on wattpad?), about a girl's perspective during WW2, from Germany. What do you guys think?

Thanks so much, I love you all.


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